


The Sign of Fortune

by Cloudtrader



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:56:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudtrader/pseuds/Cloudtrader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deciding on whether to do the logical thing or the thing that makes her happy is a tough one for Doctor Joan Watson.  Sherlock and Joan have an epic bromance, Sherlock is Joan's wingman, and diamonds sparkle brightest when next to Mary Morstan's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sign of Fortune

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greywash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywash/gifts).



“Watson, I’m coming out of the dungeon now, where are you?” Joan barely managed to open her mouth to reply before her client was interrupting. “Never mind, I’ll find you.” An abrupt silence on the other end of her line signaled that Sherlock Holmes had already hung up.

Joan Watson considered getting up and meeting with Sherlock, but her mild aggravation at the man won out instead. Had he really expected her to just wait outside of a specialized dungeon, in the middle of an admittedly well-lighted and distressingly well-stocked sex shop for an hour while he did… whatever it was he was doing in the other room? Well, boundaries were not his strong suit, which she’d discovered on the very first day of being his sober companion. She’d decided that he’d be fine in the gleaming (and seemingly drug-free) surroundings of the store and found a nice coffee shop around the corner within which to wait.

Joan took a sip of her tea and didn’t bother getting up. Sherlock would find her soon enough.

She saw him barrel around the corner, spotting her the instant he laid eyes on the café, where she was sitting in the window. Joan stood to meet him as he paused at the crosswalk. With an impatient twist to his perpetually hunched shoulders, Sherlock got out his phone again. Her phone started ringing. Incredulously, Joan realized that he was calling her from across the street.

She held up her ringing phone as the light turned green and she strode out of the café to meet him.

“Really, Sherlock? You couldn’t wait half a minute to talk to me?”

He was already talking over her. “Watson, what do you know about stroke victim symptomology? I need to…” He trailed off, eyes glued to her phone, which was still ringing. “Is that? What?” Her phone finally stopped ringing as her voice mail message played through his still open phone. He punched it off and reached for hers.

Joan smirked a little, knowing what was confounding him.

“You made my ringtone the _Blue Peter_ theme tune!?” The outrage in his voice was perfect.

“You made MY ringtone on your phone the _Psycho_ song, Sherlock. It seemed appropriately childish – and turnabout is fair play.” He made a noise like a strangled duck, and she couldn’t help but choke back a giggle through her deadpan. “Besides, aren’t you always off on an **adventure**?”

Sherlock started walking, his pointed silence saying volumes about what he thought about her little riposte.

“So? Why do you need to know more about strokes? This isn’t about the Chevalier, is it? Because we returned all of…”

She was interrupted by another phone call, this one on Sherlock’s mobile and using a generic tone.

“Unknown number,” Sherlock said, staring at the phone as they walked down the street as if he could discern who was calling just from the ring and the words.

“Are you going to answer that?” Joan asked.

“Yes, well.” Sherlock stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and stabbed at his phone. “Hello.” Joan took out her own phone again. “Yes, this is Sherlock Holmes.” It was probably time to change her password again so Sherlock couldn’t send more unexpected texts. “Detective Bell referred you to me? Hm, yes, what is? Okay.” Joan glanced back at Sherlock. His tone seemed dismissive, but his body language spelled his interest in the unknown caller’s case. “I see. Yes, I’m available tomorrow, say around 9 am?” Joan raised an eyebrow as Sherlock gave the address to the townhouse. It seemed that they’d be meeting with a new client tomorrow.

 

The following day, her lungs burning with the pleasant ache of exertion, Joan jogged down the street to her current abode. There was a woman sitting on the steps in front of the townhouse. Joan slowed to a walk, taking the last few meters to scope out the situation. The woman was about her age, with short blond hair and a nice dress. She had a large handbag which she was using to prop up a book of some sort, although she didn’t appear to be reading it, but was rather staring off into space.

She was also gorgeous.

“Hello,” Joan said as she approached the stranger, “can I help you?”

The woman jumped up. “Hi! Um, I have a meeting with Mr. Holmes, but I’m early and I didn’t want to disturb him and yeah, so I decided to wait because I hate it when people come early, you know? I’m, um, Mary Morstan.”

Joan shook her hand. “Joan Watson. Come wait inside, it’ll be warmer. I’ll see if Sherlock is ready for you.”

“Thank you!” Ms. Morstan’s smile was lovely. Joan tore her eyes away and directed her inside.

“Just have a seat here. It might be a few before he’s ready.”

“No problem! I was just really anxious and couldn’t stop myself from arriving so early, but I can wait.” Ms. Morstan arranged herself on the settee while Joan went to look for Sherlock.

She found him in the kitchen. “Sherlock, your appointment is here…”

“I saw, yes,” he said.

“You saw her. Waiting outside,” she looked at him, unimpressed.

“I have been observing Ms. Morstan for the last ten minutes. You can tell a lot about a person from how they conduct themselves when they think they are being unobserved. Ms. Morstan, for instance, is extremely nervous, but not frightened. She’s a school teacher – young children, not teenagers – so must therefore be used to pressure, but I’m not sure if she’s here about her job or not.”

Diverted by his musings, Joan couldn’t help but ask. “She’s a teacher?”

“Yes, just look at those sensible shoes and the dry erase marker smudges embedded into her fingertips. I also did an online search of her last night. Her so-called case is probably nothing more than The Mystery of the Missing Paste Pot. Here’s a hint, a student ate it.”

Joan rolled her eyes at him. He wasn’t fooling her – there was something interesting about Ms. Morstan. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” he stated. He watched her make her morning shake out of the corner of his eye. “You’re attracted to her! I knew you were bisexual, based on your gaze-shift when watching Gwen walk up the stairs the other morning and several other clues, but I wasn’t sure you’d act on it. Are you going to ask her out?”

“I just met her. Also, she’s your client, which makes this a job. I don’t date clients, Sherlock.”

“But you want to! Excellent, I can be your wingman!”

“No! No, Sherlock, just no. Just… just go see what her problem is so you can help her.”

Sherlock, started towards his media room. “ **We** shall help her, Watson! I’m not foregoing my morning routine, so you have time to wash up and get dressed before we see what our mystery school teacher has to say. Put on something pretty.” He turned on his televisions and started his memory exercises.

Joan shook her head and headed off to take a shower. She couldn’t help but think of the woman waiting in the other room, though. Ms. Morstan was attractive and she hadn’t spotted a ring, or any other jewelry, actually. Her nervous babbling had been cute, too.

After dressing (and yes, dammit, she’d put on one of her most flattering casual outfits), Joan headed back downstairs to check on everything. She found Sherlock and Ms. Morstan at the table.

“You’ve already met my assistant, Dr. Watson,” Sherlock said, gesturing to Joan.

“Oh, so you’re not a couple?” Ms. Morstan exclaimed with a little blush.

Sherlock gave her significant glance. “No,” said Joan, “we have a business arrangement.” She was well-practiced in talking around what her job actually was. Joan was just glad that Sherlock hadn’t called her his housekeeper again.

“So, what can we do for you, Ms. Morstan?” Sherlock asked.

“Mary, please. And, well. It’s a bit of a story.” Sherlock gestured for her to proceed and Joan settled in to listen.

“My father was a diplomat, just a minor one, you understand. His last posting was to Zimbabwe, in 2002. I don’t know how much you know about the political situation in that country, but ten years ago it was a political and economic mess. My father was part of a team of observers sent by the U.S. to review and administer the money from the Zimbabwe Democracy and Economic Recovery Act of 2001. The act was not popular in Zimbabwe. There were accusations of racism, since part of the reason for the bill was to try to protect white farmers whose land was being seized by the government. Anyway, it was not a comforting time or place for my father to be there, as I’m sure you can imagine. But he came home safely.”

Mary paused, closed her eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. “I was to meet him the day after he got back. He’d called me from the airport after he landed and everything seemed fine. He was extremely happy to be home.” She sighed. “He disappeared without a trace. Sometime between the airport and home, he just vanished. The police investigated, but nothing was ever discovered. The last person to see him was another diplomatic aide, a friend of my father’s, named Mark Sholto. Unfortunately, Mr. Sholto died a few years back.”

“Ms. Morstan,” Sherlock started.

“Call me Mary, please, only my students call me Ms. Morstan,” she interrupted.

“Mary then. I can certainly try to help you find out what happened to your father, but ten years is a long time and I can’t promise anything…”

“Of course, yes, I know. There’s more.”

“Go ahead,” Joan said, intrigued.

“After my father’s death, on my next birthday, I received a box in the mail. Every birthday since then I have received the same anonymous present, posted from different locations around the city.” She reached inside her handbag and brought out a small box, which she opened. With a seemingly careless shrug, she spilled it out onto the table.

Joan felt her eyes widen and her breath quicken. Right in front of her were a small handful of sparkling, perfectly cut diamonds. Next to her, Sherlock leaned forward to examine them closely.

“These are,” he stopped and stared.

“Real diamonds. Each one is worth more than I make in a year.”

“Well. Now **this** is a mystery!”

“There’s more,” Mary stated. Both their eyes snapped back up to her face.

“My birthday was just a few days ago, and I got another diamond,” she picked up one of the lustrous gems and rolled it gently between her fingers, “but for the first time, I received a note.” Mary put the diamond down and produced a sheet of paper from her bag, which she held out to Sherlock.

He snatched it away and brought it up to his face for a close examination. “Do you have the envelop it came in?”

“No, there was nothing of use on it.”

“You can’t know what I might find useful; I must have all the data!”

Mary looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think… it’s just that, I used to date Marcus, I mean, Detective Bell’s sister,” she darted a quick glance to Joan and Joan felt a frisson of sexual awareness bolt through her, “so he was kind enough to check it all for fingerprints and there were none so I thought it was okay…”

“No matter, what’s done is done. Hmm.” Sherlock sat the letter down and stared off into the distance, thinking. Joan picked up the letter to read.

“You are a wronged woman, Mary Morstan,” Joan read aloud. “If you wish to discover the reason for your birthday presents, come to the following address on the following date. If you feel too frightened to come alone, you may bring two companions, but do not involve the police.” Joan raised her eyebrows. Mary Morstan was both gorgeous and mysterious. The combination was intoxicating.

“I assume you want us to be your companions?” she asked Mary.

“Yes. As you can see, the meeting date and time is tomorrow. Marcus said that he trusted Mr. Holmes to discover any secrets. He wanted to come himself, but I told him no, the letter said no police. He does have a copy of the letter, though, just in case.”

“Fascinating,” Sherlock said. “Yes, this is much more interesting than I thought it would be! I must contact Captain Gregson and see if I can have access to your father’s case files immediately. Watson, please exchange phone numbers with Mary so that we may contact each other.” Sherlock dashed out of the room, taking the letter with him.

Joan watched him go, delaying looking back at Mary for a moment to gather herself. Mary took out her mobile. A beam of light hit the diamonds on the table and reflected sparks of rainbow colors onto her face. Joan was entranced by the light show.

Mary looked up and blushed, which made Joan realize she was staring. Oh, she was so doomed.

 

The next morning, Joan woke up to an oddly tinny version of _Call Me Maybe_ , which she eventually realized was playing from her mobile phone. Apparently, Sherlock had already cracked her newest password and changed her phone’s ringtone for Mary Morstan. She grumbled as she got up, listening to Mary’s message.

“Sherlock!” she yelled, finding him lying on the couch upside down, his green and purple striped sock-clad feet braced against the stairwell. “Mary wants to know if she should bring the diamonds.”

“I shouldn’t think it necessary, Watson. And how are you this fine morning?”

She glared at him, then started texting an answer back to Mary. “I’d be better if you hadn’t broken into my phone again.”

“Didn’t like the song? I almost went with _Crush_ – Ms. Morstan looks a bit like Jennifer Paige, don’t you think? – but I decided on something more contemporary instead.”

Frankly, Joan was actually kind of glad he hadn’t gone with _I Kissed a Girl_ or something.

“But she definitely likes you. Did you notice how she slipped in that bit about dating Detective Bell’s sister? You should thank me because now you both have each other’s numbers.”

“Sherlock, stay out of my love life.”

He clapped his hands together. “Ha! Already admitting you have one, fabulous. Although… I’m not sure she’s right for you. Mysterious diamonds and clandestine meetings aside, she’s a rather normal, boring person, Watson. Look at her footwear! Someone who wears cushioned flats does not belong with someone like you who insists on five-inch heels.”

“We’re not. I’m not going to date her. And it’s none of your business!”

“Rubbish. You both want to date each other, so you should.”

She stared at him. “You were just trying to talk me out of dating her!”

“No, you should absolutely date her – I’ve already told you that having sex would brighten your disposition. But you’re looking for someone long-term and I’m just not sure that Mary Morstan is that person.”

Joan tilted her head and considered him. This was likely another manifestation of his separation anxiety about her stint as his sober companion coming to an end soon, like his dithering over his sponsor. Joan was already. Well. She had been thinking about what her mother had said, about being happy in your work. But it was still too early to tell him that. She hadn’t decided yet, so she would put off addressing his ridiculous assertions about Mary and herself, too.

She was definitely changing his ringtone to something even more childish than the _Blue Peter_ theme tune, though.

 

The case was ridiculous, but Joan had the time of her life. A guilty-feeling and perpetually high twin; a locked-room murder; an African monkey trained to be a murderer; a conspiracy involving blood diamonds; the tale of a daring escape from a torture camp in the Marange diamond fields of Zimbabwe; a man with only one leg; bribery and corruption in the diplomatic corps; a hacker named Toby that could trace data through the internet like a bloodhound; all culminating in a crazy chase by boat down the Hudson River.

Joan felt as if her entire life had led her to this. Nothing had ever made her feel as alive as following Sherlock into the twists of the puzzle Mary had presented them with. She’d become a doctor for the puzzle and to help people. This was like that, but **more**.

She hadn’t told Sherlock yet, but Joan wanted to stay. As she watched the police lead away the poor Zimbabwean miner named John Small, the man with only one leg, Joan reflected on fortunes won and lost. She’d lost her fortune of happiness with Liam and with the loss of her patient… but perhaps she was winning it back now, here, in what she was doing with Sherlock Holmes. She peeked through the window of the interview room to where Mary Morstan was resting after finding out about her father’s involvement in smuggling blood diamonds and how his friend had murdered him.

She would call Mary in a few days, Joan decided. Perhaps the other woman was another sign that her fortunes were changing.

“Ready to go, Watson?”

“Let me just say goodbye to Mary, Sherlock,” she said. “Oh, and by the way. You should call me.” She smirked at him.

He looked at her suspiciously. “Call you,” he said flatly.

“I changed your ringtone again.”

As he punched a button on his phone to call her and the sound of her phone ringing with the theme of _My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic_ filled the police station, a laugh of genuine delight – at his expression, at the thought of dating Mary, at a future doing something she enjoyed – bubbled out of Joan Watson for the first time in a long time. Her fortunes were definitely changing, she decided.


End file.
